GrandmaPeachDecember 6, 1912, Kafka wrote to Felice Bauer worrying about a prior disparaging of his own looks. He feared, "at any moment I am afraid I may get a telegram: "Franz, you are beautiful." Then all I could do would be to crawl under the table." I often imagine myself being the recipient of this letter. I imagine tossing the letter aside, forsaking any plans I had for the day, and rushing to the train station to board the earliest train out of Berlin to Prague. If I had to stand all the way there in third class, rats running over my feet, all the better to strengthen my resolve for the task ahead of me. Upon arrival, I would find my way, somehow, stopping only for directions or possibly transport, to The Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute. And if I should have made it before 2, when he would have been there, miserably pouring over the depressing legal documents that sucked so greedily at his tender soul, I would shout from the sidewalk as loudly as I could, "FRANZ! YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!" Again and again I would shout it. He would hear it, I would WILL him to hear it if he is not informed by a coworker closer to the windows I'm facing. I would shout it until every drop of insecurity is absorbed by the heavy blows of my words. Until he could no longer recall the cruel words of his father, the discouragement from his uncle who once dismissed his writing. Until I cough up blood and feel relief from it as he did upon contracting the tuberculosis that would cruelly claim his life. I would be relieved because he would know. He would finally know he was beautiful and always had been. The Sudden Walk is my favorite short story by him.
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